Drowning
by haveyouseenmyhaggis
Summary: Sometimes Loki likes to watch Clint fight to remember who he is before he drowns him again and steals his mind.


Sometimes I like watching my little pet, Agent Clint "Hawkeye" Barton, in the middle of the night when he's in his bed. He usually wakes up in a panic, screaming and crying. He is not as brave then as he likes to think he pretends to be. It's almost amusing. When he falls asleep, his subconscious mind plays havoc with him, despite the Tesseract's influence and he remembers things – bits of memories, familiar faces. It is an easy job to concentrate and slip into his mind to watch, unnoticed.

I can feel his pathetic human mind burning and I can actually see it tearing him to pieces. I can see the chaos in his eyes through the pale blue gleam of the Tesseract. It's almost adorable the way he looks at me like I'm going to save him. He really thinks I'll help him? He really thinks I care? I kneel down beside him on the bed and smirk, cupping his face in both hands. "Sentiment, Barton, is for the weak."

And with that, he just stares at me like I've hit him. He swallows and nods and tries to take a squirm away from me. "S-Sorry, Sir..." he mumbles, trying to avoid eye contact as he doubles over and clutches at his head again, whimpering in pain. Poor little pet... Their minds really are so very, very weak. It's adorable. I smile and let him, go, resting a hand on his shoulder though, just to let him know I'm here. It's not really a threat, just a warning. It is not even a reassurance - I think not that he needs that. This will make him stronger. I'll let him suffer a while long before I actually help him. He'll appreciate it more then.

So I leave him at the edge of his mind and I can't describe the rush it brings. I can feel in his head, who he really is without the Tesseract and myself interfering with his consciousness... I can see all of that. I can see his memories, see the faces he cannot quite name, the places he cannot quite remember through the haze in his head, through the burning white hot pain. It's oddly beautiful, watching his head. Watching his pain... Humans as a whole are a pathetic race - so weak and fragile and so desperate for leadership but they are oddly fascinating. When you get one up close like I have Barton, it's interesting to look inside their heads and figure out what makes them so.

They are still so pathetic though. I watch as he starts to cry when the pain becomes unbearable. It's addictive really, watching him suffer. I'm still in his head, watching every neuron in his brain screaming, tortured by memories and thoughts that he knows are his own but he cannot look beyond the objective clarity the Tesseract has given him. The whimpering little creature should be grateful for that clarity. The emotions his memories bring will destroy him and hurt him and cloud his mind. Because I'll give him that - it is a rather impressive mind. Agent Clint Barton is quite smart and he certainly has talent in his archery - he makes it almost look like an art form and it is interesting to watch him. I made him put on a little show earlier, just to watch the way his body moved, to see the way he becomes one with his weapon. It was like an elaborate dance...

That grace is gone now though as he curls up and cries, sobbing dejectedly into his pillow, his fingers locked in his hair as he tries to think through the pain, to figure out why certain faces make him feel scared, why certain lines of knowledge hurt so much. Natasha Romanoff... I made him tell me all about her earlier on - I made him spill all their secrets and he didn't protest once. He could not. He didn't even think to. But now? Now he can almost remember what I made him do and he can remember promising her she would be able to trust him never to give out details which could compromise either of him.

And the guilt! Oh, his guilt is delicious. It's so acute that I can feel it tugging at his stomach and I watch as his face grows pale as he remembers whose side he's really on. He remembers that he should be trying to kill me, not his own friends and it's then that he looks up at me. His eyes are wide and he looks like nothing other than a frightened rabbit and he poses as little a threat as on. "L-Loki," he stammers pathetically, his voice trembling disgustingly. The tears glisten on his cheeks, making little tracks down his face and he looks so lost and scared I almost feel sorry for him... But why should he not feel like this? He deserves this pain. He and the rest of his race of apes. They all deserve to suffer how I suffer and they all deserve to hurt and cry and beg and plead to me. Me... I am their ruler. I am his ruler and he knows it. But he also knows he has to kill me and the conflict tears at his mind and tears at everything he knows he is.

I smile reassuringly and take his hand then. "I can help you, Barton," I whisper to him, watching as his expression fills with hope that quickly flashes into terror. "N-No!" he says, stumbling over his words and half-heartedly trying to pull his hand away. Idiotic fool. He really thinks he can resist me? I know very well that part of him does not even want to resist. The Tesseract has left him wanting to obey me and only me and needing that. I laugh and push him back down onto his bed, straddling his hips and taking his face in both hands again. He whimpers and struggles but there's no real meaning behind his movements. He doesn't really want to make me move. Part of him wants me to help him, to take the pain away and make him mine again. I remind him of that and kiss his forehead gentle. "Relax, pet..." I whisper gently against his ear as I force my consciousness against his and drown everything he's remembering.

It's a bit like holding a sick puppy in a pond of water. You need to kill it to end its pain, do you not? Its struggle is pitiful yet oddly adorable but you know you're drowning it for a reason - whatever reason that may be so you have to carry on. You have to ignore it's desperation and panic. So you persevere through the whimpering and crying. You endure the weak batting against your arms, as you feel the fight draining out of it.

And then the fighting stops and the puppy dies.

And then the fighting stops and Barton belongs to me again.


End file.
